"If you look closely, you'll see them!"
Regulus Black x fem!reader
synopsis: when you swear your boyfriend, regulus, has dimples no one believes you, that is until he walks in and proves everyone wrong.
warnings: pure fluff, mentions of cold demeanor, some mild language, grumpy x sunshine kinda?
w/c: 3k
a/n: my headcanon is that regulus has dimples!!! i said what i said guys, argue with me !! also this has been in my drafts for a good 7 months </3
masterlist
"Regulus Black does not have dimples!"
Sirius declares for the third time that afternoon, sprawled across the common room sofa with his legs thrown carelessly over James’s lap, his voice carrying that unbothered arrogance he wielded like a second skin.
"You’re hallucinating."
You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest as you stand firm before the Marauders, unyielding in your defiance. Mary is nestled against Remus’s shoulder, her eyes glimmering with barely-contained amusement as if she knows something the others don’t.
"I am not hallucinating," you retort, voice dripping with indignation, hands finding your hips in a stance that borders on stubbornness. "I’ve seen them! They’re right here."
You jab your own cheeks for emphasis, fingers pressing into the softness just beneath your eyes, and the room erupts into snorts and muffled laughter, your so-called friends delighting in your apparent delusion.
But you know the truth. You have seen them—the delicate crescents that carve themselves into his cheeks when he smiles in that unguarded way, soft and fleeting, like moonlight filtering through darkened leaves. It is a secret you hold close to your heart, something sacred and untouched, for Regulus Black is not supposed to smile like that. Not according to them.
To everyone else, he is sharp lines and cold eyes, distant and unyielding, a boy forged from winter’s breath and brittle starlight. His name drips from their tongues like a warning, a reminder of ancient bloodlines and whispered expectations. But you know better. You have seen the way his eyes soften when you laugh, the way his hands hesitate before touching yours as if afraid he might shatter something precious.
Regulus Black, to you, is soft edges and hidden warmth, tenderness folded into the corners of his smile, something gentle and achingly beautiful beneath the surface. They could not see it, would not believe it, but you did. You always did.
"Darling," James begins, slipping into his most condescending tone as he tilts his glasses down the bridge of his nose to peer at you properly, eyes alight with mischief. "I’ve known Reggie since fourth year, and not once have I ever seen a dimple. Not even a suggestion of one."
He is wrong, you think, pressing your lips together to keep the secret tucked safely in your heart.
They do not know the way Regulus looks at you when no one is watching, how his gaze softens like the edge of dawn, or how his laugh—rare and unbidden—blooms like a flower in the dark. They do not know that Regulus Black, for all his coldness, holds sunlight in his smile, and you are one of the very few who has ever been allowed to see it.
"That’s because you’re not paying attention," you shoot back, arms crossing defensively. "He does this little smile sometimes, it’s soft and kind of lopsided, and there’s this tiny dimple right here—" you poke your cheek again, more insistently, as if the physicality might convince them. "I swear, it’s like magic."
"Or madness," Remus suggests mildly, and Mary dissolves into laughter, her curls shaking as she leans further into him.
"I mean, we’re talking about Regulus Black here, right? My-face-is-carved-from-stone Regulus Black?"
"Maybe it’s just a shadow," Sirius chimes in, inspecting his nails with a grin that teeters on smugness. He hardly even glances up, as if the matter is too trivial for his full attention.
"A trick of the light. Or you’ve been hexed. Definitely hexed. I bet it’s a dimple jinx. You see fake dimples, fall madly in love." His grin widens, eyes glinting with mischief, and the others snicker at the notion.
"I have not been hexed!" you cry, voice pitching higher in your indignation, but your outburst only seems to spur their laughter further.
The sound spills into the room like the crackle of firewood, unrestrained and merry, and you stand at the center of it all, defiant and unyielding. "I’m telling you, I’ve seen them. He has dimples!"
"Right," James nods, his expression shifting to exaggerated seriousness as he claps a hand on your shoulder, eyes sparkling with that brand of Marauder mischief that rarely bodes well.
"And I’m secretly the heir to the Malfoy fortune."
"Stop it." you protest, your hands flying to your hips as if that might root your argument more firmly in truth.
"He has dimples. If you look closely, you’ll see them!"
They laugh again, the sound bubbling up like champagne flutes clinking together, indulgent and disbelieving. But you only hold your ground, chin tilted upward with all the stubbornness of someone who has glimpsed something magical and refuses to let it be reduced to smoke and shadows.
Because you know. You have seen the way Regulus’s face softens when he lets his guard slip, how those tiny, secret dimples blossom at the edges of his smile like something fragile and hidden from the rest of the world. It is not a trick of the light, not some fleeting mirage conjured by wishful thinking.
It is real. He is real. And maybe, just maybe, they have never looked closely enough.
"He does not," Sirius says flatly. "I would know. I’ve seen that miserable mug for seventeen years straight, and not once has it ever hinted at joy. If he’s smiling for you, you might want to check if he’s choking."
"You don’t know everything about him," you snap back, and it’s a bit more pointed than you intended, because Sirius’s expression shifts for the briefest moment, but then he’s back to smirking, one brow arched.
"Oh, I know enough. And I know that my miserable little brother is physically incapable of producing dimples. It would require smiling first. Which is practically illegal for him, by the way. Pretty sure he signed a contract with Death himself."
"He does smile," you argue. "Just... not around you lot."
Mary’s eyes light up at that, and she sits up a little straighter, nudging Remus. "Not around us, huh? Just around you?"
You hesitate, heat creeping up your neck. "Well… yeah. I suppose." At their expressions, you quickly add, "That’s not weird!"
"It’s a little weird," Remus says thoughtfully. "I mean, I’ve never seen him smile like that." He looks to Sirius for confirmation, who just shakes his head.
"Me neither," Sirius agrees. "And if he was going to be grinning like a lovesick idiot, I feel like I’d know. Or maybe you just have some sort of freaky dimple-seeing ability. Is that a thing? Can we get that checked?"
"Maybe he only smiles for her," Mary sing-songs, and you swat at her, cheeks blazing. "What? I’m just saying!"
You cross your arms tighter over your chest, frustration curling hot and sharp beneath your ribs. You know what you saw. It wasn’t magic or shadows or madness. It was Regulus, soft and unguarded in a way that felt almost secret. A piece of him reserved just for you, like a glimpse behind the curtain of a play only you were meant to watch.
But they wouldn’t believe you. They couldn’t. Because to them, Regulus was all sharp edges and cold stares, impenetrable as stone. But to you, he was something else entirely.
You saw the parts he kept hidden—the softness, the ache, the way his eyes would linger when he thought you weren’t looking. The way his fingers brushed yours just a bit too long when he handed you your books, the way he stood a little closer than necessary when you walked side by side. His dimples were proof of it. Proof of the parts of him that were gentle and real and yours.
"I’m not making it up," you murmur stubbornly, softer this time, almost like you’re telling it to yourself.
James leans back, stretching his legs out in front of him. "You know, I almost want you to be right. I’ve never seen Regulus with dimples before. I think it would break my brain."
The room is still shaking with laughter when the portrait door swings open. It is a subtle thing, just the soft groan of hinges and the hush of movement, but you feel it like an echo in your bones. Your gaze snaps up before you can help it, the breath stalling in your lungs as if caught between heartbeats.
There he is, Regulus Black, framed in the doorway like he has stepped out of a painting, shadows and light playing across his features in sharp relief.
He is ice and elegance, his gaze sweeping over the room with cool detachment, the sort of look that makes even Sirius go still. His brother’s grin falters, an instinctual pause as if the air has been sucked from the room.
Regulus’s eyes flicker over them, James’s raised brow, Sirius’s smirk half-frozen in place, Remus’s unbothered calm, but there is nothing there, not even a nod of acknowledgment. His expression is marble-carved, beautiful and unyielding.
But then his gaze finds yours, and it softens, melts like snow beneath the first touch of spring. His eyes brighten, lips twitching at the corners, and suddenly it is like you are the only two people in the room. The change is breathtaking, the kind of transformation that feels like stepping into sunlight after days of rain.
Without thinking, you are already moving, feet carrying you across the room as if pulled by some invisible thread.
"Regulus," you breathe, and the way his name falls from your lips feels like unspooling thread, like the first sigh of spring. His expression softens entirely, something delicate and aching sparking behind his eyes as you practically throw yourself into his arms. He catches you easily, arms winding around your waist, steady and certain, like he has been waiting for you his entire life.
Your hands are in his hair before you realize it, fingertips grazing the base of his neck as you pull back just enough to look at him properly. His smile is still there, still hovering at the edges, and it is soft and real and yours.
"I missed you," you whisper, half a confession, half a prayer, and as soon as the words leave your lips, it happens.
A tiny crease, delicate and almost imperceptible, blooms on his left cheek, like the first hint of dawn breaking over a dark horizon.
A dimple, soft and secret, there and gone in a heartbeat, as if it only exists for you.
"I missed you too, amour," he murmurs, his gaze flicking over your face like he is memorizing it. "You have no idea."
There is a tension in the room, thick and breathless, as if the very walls are leaning in to listen, the crackle of the fire muted under the weight of disbelief.
The Marauders and Mary are watching with wide eyes, suspended between fascination and utter incredulity, as if the scene before them is too tender, too impossibly soft to be real.
Regulus Black—aloof and unyielding, frost-kissed and sharp-edged—is holding you like something sacred, his arms wrapped around you with a gentleness that seems to contradict everything they thought they knew of him. His thumb brushes across your cheek, feather-light and reverent, as though you are made of something finer than bone and breath, something worth protecting.
And then he smiles—just a fraction more—but it is enough.
You do not even realize what you are doing; your body moves before your mind catches up, and you lean up to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, quick and soft and so achingly familiar it feels like slipping into an old memory. He blinks, eyes flickering with surprise, but you do not pull away.
You lean in again, pressing your lips to his other cheek, right where his smile deepens, and it happens—a twin to the first, blooming on the opposite cheek as if coaxed into existence by your touch alone.
A second dimple, tender and unmistakable, carved into his pale skin like it had been waiting there all along, hidden just beneath the surface.
You are not the only one who notices.
Behind you, there is the unmistakable sound of someone choking on their own breath, followed by a very loud, "What the hell?" from James, his voice pitched somewhere between awe and utter disbelief.
Regulus glances up, his gaze catching on James, who is staring as if he has just witnessed stone turn to gold, like magic itself has unfolded right in front of him.
Sirius is uncharacteristically silent, eyes narrowed in something akin to suspicion or maybe even wonder, while James’s jaw is completely unhinged, glasses slipping precariously down the bridge of his nose.
Remus is blinking rapidly, as if trying to clear away a mirage, mouth slightly parted in surprise. And Mary—sweet, sharp-eyed Mary—looks positively gleeful, her grin spreading slow and wicked as she nudges Remus sharply in the ribs, her eyes dancing with triumph.
"I told you," she mouths, lips curving around each word with delight.
Because it is true.
There is no need to look closely, no need to squint or peer beneath shadows—Regulus Black’s dimples are right there, clear as daylight and twice as warm, so stunningly visible that they might as well have been carved out of starlight.
They blossom wide and unguarded, softening the sharp lines of his face, and for a heartbeat, he is not the boy forged from winter’s chill and midnight silence. He is something brighter, something softer, and it is plain to see that with you, he is allowed to be gentle.
"I told you!" you practically crow, turning back to face them while still locked in Regulus’s arms. "I told you he has dimples!"
Sirius remains silent, watching with something like suspicion, but James looks like he has seen a ghost.
James is still staring. "I think I need to sit down."
"You are sitting down," Remus points out.
"I think I need to sit down lower," James clarifies faintly.
But you are not paying attention to them anymore, because Regulus is looking at you with that same impossible smile, both dimples still lingering like promises.
His hand cups your cheek, thumb stroking a gentle line across your skin. "You told them about my dimples?" he asks, voice low and edged with amusement.
You nod, breathless and unashamed. "I did. And they did not believe me."
His smile softens, stretching wider, and both dimples deepen like secret doorways to some hidden softness that only you are allowed to see.
He leans in, the space between you shrinking until his breath mingles with yours, and his voice drops to a low, velvety murmur meant only for you.
"You really should not spend so much time with Gryffindors," he whispers, his tone laced with quiet disdain that is more habit than heart, though his gaze remains warm and unyielding, crafted entirely for you. "I think they are starting to rub off on you." His eyes glimmer with amusement, but there is something else there too, something tender that settles in the quiet curve of his smile.
Your laughter spills out, bright and unrestrained, like the first crack of sunlight through winter clouds, and before you know it, your hands are tugging him closer, closing whatever space remains.
In that moment, it is just you and him, suspended in the fragile stillness that belongs only to the two of you, where the rest of the world feels distant and unimportant, something to be dealt with later.
For now, there is only this: his smile, his dimples carved like promises into his cheeks, and the gentle, unwavering warmth of his arms around you, holding you close as if he is terrified of letting go, as if this is a vow whispered into the spaces between heartbeats.
The truth is, Sirius had always known that Regulus had dimples.
He had known for years, had seen the faint creases carve themselves into his brother’s cheeks on the rarest of occasions, like fleeting whispers of a softer world beneath the ice.
But the thing is, those dimples only ever appeared when Regulus was around you, when your laughter spilled into the room like sunlight or when your name slipped from his mouth with that unguarded tenderness that seemed to unravel something deep and hidden in him.
It was as though the universe had woven this small, delicate fragment of softness solely for you to uncover, a secret threaded carefully into the very fabric of him, waiting patiently for your hands to find it, to hold it like something sacred and fragile and wholly yours.
